His Evening Star
by dancewithdragons
Summary: A peek into the untold love between Rhaelle Targaryen and her husband, the Lord of Storm's End. Fluff. (Rated K)


The Lord of Storm's End watched his wife as she glided along the beach.

There was no moon in the sky that night, the firmament hidden behind ominous black clouds and the dark waters blending into the endless horizon, but in Rhaelle, there was light yet. Her porcelain skin melted into her ivory waves and alabaster gown, and as she made her way across the pale gold sand, he saw the brightest of stars.

The Evening Star, the populous of the Stormlands had taken to calling her, and as he gazed at her, glowing against the obsidian sky like a jewel, he knew it was the truest of titles. Though he sat only feet from her, perched on a rock while the mists of the Shipbreaker Bay kissed his cheeks, he didn't dare disturb the ethereal woman before him, who now turned to look back at him.

He couldn't help but grin at her, propping his chin on the palm of his hand. Her vibrant lavender eyes were the only things that colored her face, pale but not in a sickly way, and his breath hitched as she granted him the sight of her warm and inviting smile. Out of all of the things about Rhaelle that he grew to love, it was her smile that made him melt. Not her crystalline white hair or her charm or her wit, but the gentle and loving curve of her full lips.

She held her hand out to him, extending her arm with the grace of the princess that she was, and he rose, abiding her silent request for him to join her. When he reached her, cold winds blowing through her silky mane and ruffling his own coarse hair of charcoal black, she took his hand in hers, intertwining her fingers through his and pulling his hand to her stomach, where their child swelled.

"Feel him, love," she murmured in her soft, angelic voice. "He fights to meet you." He felt. Her stomach rumbled and he felt the thud of the babe that bloomed inside of her, over and over for what seemed like an eternity.

Sodden with happiness and drunk off of the love he had for his wife, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. "You are mistaken, sweetling, he fights to meet _you_," he said, tracing his free hand up her arm and to her face, tucking loose ivory strands behind her pale ear as they tumbled across her silver brows.

"That's nonsense." She released his hand and wrapped her arms around his neck, fingers running over his short-cropped hair. "I do hope he takes your looks," she said, looking up at him with her big, round eyes. In that moment she looked so innocent and young and beautiful that he didn't believe that he had been be so lucky as to become her husband.

Her stare was so kind and pure that he felt sinful, but it wasn't an uncomfortable feeling. In fact, it made him feel like he was just a boy again, newly in love with a woman that seemed like a dream beyond all others. "How do you know it will be a boy?" He asked her, holding her close to him.

"I just do," she replied simply, shrugging her shoulders. Ever since she discovered she was with child, Rhaelle had been sure it was a boy, and while he wouldn't be against having a son and heir, the Lord of Storm's End couldn't help but imagine a daughter, with all of her mother's looks, right down to the slight curve of her nose. He heard his wife murmur something, and he looked down to see her rubbing her hand slowly over her stomach, a serene expression on her face. "His name will be Steffon."

"Steffon?" He raised a brow and cupped her cheek in his hand, ocean blue eyes trailing to her round belly, concealed by her elegant white chiffon gown. Steffon was his father's name, and his father before him. Steffon was _his_ name. "Don't you want a dragon's name?" He figured she would ponder the names of her ancestors, the kings and princes of old with the blood of the old Valyria.

At that suggestion, Rhaelle threw her head back and the delicious trills of her laughter filled the air, the sound of the waves washing up on the shore harmonizing with it and creating a melodic noise that made him gasp in awe. "_Aegon, Viserys, Aemon_. The names are all the same, simple and frail and boring. _Steffon _is strong, different. It has roots. It's a traditional title passed down by the men in your lineage." She leaned in to him and rested her head on his shoulder, sighing lightly against his sapphire tunic. "It's _your_ name."

He didn't even try and stop the smile that widened on his lips as his wife went on. She was meant to be a Baratheon, he thinks, for her strength and prominence balanced with her grace and poise made her the perfect Lady of Storm's End. She ruled through him as their Lord, and everyone knew it. She was his closest companion, his most trusted friend, and the only person he knew as well as himself.

From the start they had fit together like two petals on a rose, blooming beside one another, growing and thriving. He loved her from the beginning, and she never neglected to tell him of her reciprocation of his affections.

He held her even closer then, burying his face in the crook of her neck, the cool sensation of her fingertips trailing lazily up and down his spine making him shiver. She smelled of the ocean, salty and crisp, and he inhaled deeply as he felt her lips curve against his chest. "He'll be happy," she said, and they both knew she meant their child. "He'll have boys of his own and they'll be kings of this land. Our land."

He nodded, filling his fist with her pale white waves as he ran his fingers through her hair. "Our land." He tasted the words on his tongue and smiled even brighter. This _was_ their land. His and Rhaelle's. They brought a peace and balance that Storm's End would never know again, that much was obvious. She was the bright star, shining and illuminating the world before her, and he was the dark sky, grounding her and keeping her safe, surrounding her with as much love as her brilliant rays could absorb.

Alone, they were strong and able, but together they were unstoppable. They were a dragon and a stag, and at each others sides they hoped they would never have to show the world their fury, with fire or blood.


End file.
